


Silence Please

by Pollymal



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Rating: NC17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-18
Updated: 2011-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-21 12:41:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pollymal/pseuds/Pollymal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Its a bit of a mashup. Could be Granada, could be 09 film, but with Mycroft and Lestrade meeting up. Just dump everything into the stew pot.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Silence Please

**Author's Note:**

> Its a bit of a mashup. Could be Granada, could be 09 film, but with Mycroft and Lestrade meeting up. Just dump everything into the stew pot.

It was over.

Almost...

It was done.

Almost...

The Bishopgate Jewel Case had been solved by the hard work and perseverance of Scotland Yard.

..except that it hadn’t.

Sherlock Holmes had solved it.

The man was infuriating.

Swooping in, picking out those tiny details, blades of grass perhaps, or dirt even, that no one cared about and suddenly, an arrest had been made, neat as you please.

But Lestrade wasn’t pleased. Not one jot. That wasn’t policing. Being a copper meant you walked and talked, asking question after question hoping some bugger would crack if you prodded hard enough. That’s the way it was. Always had been. Ask anyone. Any constable. But no, with this arrest everyone was so chuffed. Certainly his superiors were pleased. Pleased enough that they should have been crawling back to Baker Street to hear all about those dratted tiny details and how bloody obvious it all was if only you looked.

Damn him.

Damn his sharp eyes and sharper brain. Damn his knowledge of..of..well... everything or so it seemed. Damn his secrecy, his flair for the dramatic. Damn his piercing eyes, his supple hands that could caress a man’s....

No. Not again. Lestrade promised himself. No more day dreams. No more fantasies. Damn him.

Damn him for seeming so oblivious to what Lestrade wanted.

Watson knew. Oh yes the always faithful companion knew. Months ago following a fairly simple case Lestrade had tried his hand at a dose of flattery. Congratulating Holmes on his deductions, sneaking in a few compliments about the man himself. Watson in his turn had shaken Holmes by the hand and then turned to Lestrade, all open visage and friendly blue eyes.

“A good one then eh Lestrade?” he boomed heartily. “We won’t even be late for dinner tonight.”

The Inspector had taken the doctor’s hand only to be pulled forward, upsetting his balance. Startled he looked up into still friendly blue eyes.

Nearly nose to nose Watson had looked at him for a moment in silence and then very seriously said, “No.”

Lestrade may not have been Sherlock Holmes but he knew a warning when he heard it and had simply nodded. Watson dropped his hand, clapped him jovially on the back and departed, trailing in Holmes’ wake.

He’d tried, he truly had tried to forget about his infatuation with Sherlock Holmes. Holmes had all unknowingly made it somewhat easier. Too many digs, too many sighs, as though to a failing student. Even in his will after that terrible time at Reichenbach Falls, he’d had his little joke leaving him his German dictionary hoping it would come in useful should Lestrade “again see the handwriting of Miss Rachel on the wall.” There had been just too many smirks on that mouth, that annoying, smug, insulting, ravishing, delectable mouth.

Lestrade sighed. He had to get over this. He did not really want a relationship with Holmes, he was more inclined to think he was simply fascinated by the man. Who knew the things he knew? Who could be that clever, that quick, linking together all those mundane facts into a delicate shimmering web with the guilty spider hiding right in the middle of it all. There was no one like Holmes. Anywhere at all. And Sherlock, whether he knew it or not, belonged to Dr. John Watson.

Damn them all.

 

Lestrade continued on his unmerry way to 221b. The landlady who in his opinion should have had several sainthoods and numerous statues boasting of her patience bestowed upon her, showed him upstairs. Before they reached the door however a voice rang out.

“Mrs Huuudson! Send Inspector Lestrade right in please!”

He always knew. Damn him again.

Lestrade entered to find Holmes and Watson seated at dinner along with a third man the Inspector had never seen before. A heavier set man with piercing eyes and an air of smug, serene contentment, like he had not only seen it all but had made it happen that way.

Even as Holmes ushered the Inspector to the table the other man was rising to his feet. “Inspector Lestrade! Good to meet you at last. I’ve heard a great deal about you. Come! Join us, my brother was just about to explain how he solved this latest little problem. Unnecessary of course, as really the only mystery was what the devil took him so long.”

Lestrade stumbled and fell gracelessly into his seat. Brother? Had he heard correctly? Surely Sherlock was alone in the world? What misshapen villainous rock had this one spawned under? But a questioning glance thrown at Watson earned him a small smile and a tiny nod.

“Lestrade, allow me to introduce to you Mr. Mycroft Holmes, Mycroft, Inspector Gregory Lestrade. Scotland Yard’s finest.” Watson easily ignored the soft snort of derision from his partner.

“I am honoured to meet you,” Lestrade said politely, his mind whirling. Another Holmes! It couldn’t be possible. More digs, more insults, better to toss himself in the Thames and be done with it.

“A pleasure Inspector, I assure you.” Mycroft turned back to his younger brother, “Come Sherlock, confess now, did it really take you 2 entire days to discover Lady Bishop’s soon to be daughter in law was your culprit? Was it not obvious from the beginning? The butler had an iron clad alibi for the theft. And yet for the murder of Lady Bishop’s mother you dismiss him as a suspect for that very reason? Foolish boy! You know in matters of the heart a man is possible of most anything. You’ve seen the proof, you’ve tugged the heart strings for your own ends more than once. Why in heaven’s name should this case be any different?

Gregory Lestrade began to think he rather liked Mycroft Holmes.

“True Mycroft” his brother began, “However the handkerchief, bloodied and partially burned, initialled with the letters V.A. caused us to question Virginia Adams the housekeeper. It was obviously planted to make her look guilty but...”

“Obviously!” Mycroft cried, “To burn such damning evidence in your own hearth, in your own room and yet walk away without checking to be certain it was entirely consumed? Nonsense! A trap for the woman and a pathetic one at that!”

The detective rolled his eyes at his brother’s interruption. “Nonetheless”, he continued “Once we discovered Lord Bishop’s habit for sampling his own maids and how the housekeeper’s deep and abiding affection for him caused her to dismiss any maids who found themselves “in trouble” it became a simple matter of linking the people and dates together. Happily having eliminated all the suspects from the older Lady Bishop’s murder, except the butler, we had our string of facts with all the knots neatly tied in a row.”

Mycroft held up one hand and began ticking off facts, “One, Annie Carson meets Victor Bishop while he is away at school. Two, the two are quickly smitten and announce their engagement. Three, they return home to assist in the running of the estate."

Sherlock attempted to speak at this point, but was waved off by his older brother.

" Four, the grandmother whose mind had slipped away terribly sees not Annie committing the crime but her mother Annabelle a former maid who was dismissed when she too discovered she was with child some 19 years earlier. Five, no one pays her any heed."

Lestrade looked down quickly at the table, attempting to disguise the smile spreading across his face while Sherlock sat bemused about being upstaged

"Six," Mycroft continued blithely, "the family treasures go missing. Seven, the only true alibi is Jameson the butler, everyone else having motive and or opportunity. Eight, Grandmother Bishop is found dead of a heart attack, although upon closer inspection by our good doctor here faint signs show she was suffocated. There was little trauma visible, her great age caused a heart attack before any real discolouraton or obvious physical evidence could take place. Nine, Jameson did not have an alibi for that. He too recognized Annabelle in Annie and was determined to protect her at all costs. The one thing he was unable to do for her mother. Knowing the older lady’s occasion fits of lucidity in her delusions he resolved to silence her and protect the young woman. Simply put, the theft was done by Miss Annie, in revenge for her mother’s treatment and the murder, committed by Jameson, his way of making it up to Annabelle for not saving her nearly 20 years ago. Child’s play really brother mine. I still do not understand why it took you not only two days but a trip out into the dreadful wilds of the country to figure it out."

“There were some points I needed to see with my own eyes,” replied his brother stiffly.

“Hmmph! Well, you did well enough Sherlock. I’m quite pleased with you. After all had it been up to me I would not have even left my Club. And speaking of which, I have been away quite long enough. “

“You’ll stay for a brandy”, Watson offered rising to his feet.

“Thank you, no. I prefer such things in the quiet of my own chair,” Mycroft took up his hat and umbrella. “It’s been a lovely evening indeed. My compliments to your housekeeper, brother. Again, delighted to finally meet you Inspector. Doctor, Sherlock, you know where to find me should you need me.”

And so saying, the elder Holmes departed Baker Street.

For his part Lestrade was quite beside himself with glee. He blessed every bloody supervisor that had insisted he come along today. Never before had he heard anyone speak so to the Great Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft was just as fascinating as the detective but seemed more human, as though he was quite aware of his own shortcomings and had made his peace with them. His mind, unbelievably even sharper than his brother’s tugged at the Inspector. To know such a man, to converse with him on any and all topics would be stimulating indeed. But Lestrade mentally shook himself. No point dwelling on such nonsense now. It was extremely unlikely he would ever see Mycroft Holmes again.

 

“I’m to be what for whom?” Lestrade was thunderstruck, standing near the desk of the Commissioner

“The liaison for the Yard with the Home Office.” You’ll meet your contact every 2 weeks, perhaps less, give him a report and that’s that.

“That’s that? That’s all well and good but when am I supposed to fit this nonsense in with my current caseload? Why does the Home Office suddenly want reports now? We’ve never danced to their tune before.” Lestrade was striding up and down the small office, “I’m not the one for this job Sir. I don’t do well with horse-faced, inbred, aristocratic ninnies. Give me the scum of London and I’m your man, but this? No. Send someone else.”

The Yard’s Commissioner laughed, “What’s wrong with the noble classes Gregory?"

“They make my fists itch,” he answered flatly.

The other man laughed again, “Well don’t worry, the chap you report to is not a noble. Except in his own mind I should think. Here.” A card was pushed across the dark walnut desk. “This is where you meet your contact.”

Lestrade picked up the card, Stranger’s Room, Diogenes Club, Pall Mall.

“What the devil is this?” he asked? “Diogenes Club? Stranger’s Room? Where on Pall Mall? I’ve never even heard of this place? And you said it was the Home Office. Why the deuce aren’t I going there?”

His superior sighed, “Yes I said it’s the Home Office. This chap pretty much is the Home Office. You’re meeting him at the Diogenes Club because that is where he prefers to be. In fact I’ve heard tell he rarely leaves there. But a warning Inspector, the Diogenes Club is a strange place. I’ve only been told about it today. There is no talking allowed. No contact with any of the members, do you hear me? It is against the rules and there are many of those horse-faced nobles in there. Do not upset anyone. Keep your itchy fists to yourself. You’ll meet your contact in the Stranger’s Room. There and only there are you allowed to speak. Be brief. Give your report about the cases going on around here and get out. No trouble Lestrade, I want your word on this.”

Lestrade nodded slightly, “Yes Sir.”

The Commissioner sat back. “Good. And do not look so bothered Inspector, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. After all you and your contact have great friends in common.“

The last thing Lestrade noticed as he left the cramped office was a worrying smile on the man’s face.

 

Sometime later standing in Pall Mall a bewildered Lestrade carefully inspected each building looking for some sign of the elusive Diogenes Club. There were none. Bewilderment slid towards annoyance as the Inspector decided appointment be hanged, the whole thing was no more than a wild goose chase. Looking for a hansom cab he spotted a uniformed waiter waving to him from a discreet door some little distance from the Carlton. He was ushered inside and shown into a small chamber which looked out into Pall Mall.

“You may speak in here sir,” the waiter said softly, “but no place else in the club. I will inform sir of your arrival.” The young man departed leaving Lestrade alone to admire the view from the massive bay window.

He was staring out, idly wondering which of the people in the crowd were pickpockets when a noise behind him made him turn.

“You!”

“Me” Mycroft Holmes agreed easily. “Do sit down Inspector. My time is valuable and I should like to get your report out of the way.” He settled himself in a tall wing-backed chair, smoothing the lines of his deep gray trousers.

“What report? I don’t even know what I’m supposed to tell you. I was given this position less than 30 minutes ago.” The Inspector huffed in annoyance almost throwing himself onto the settee.

“Tell me everything, what is happening at the Yard, the cases, the inside politics, even the pointless sounding gossip. Leave nothing out. The smallest detail....”

Lestrade held up a warning hand. “If you’re going to start talking like your brother I will leave, never to darken this door again.”

Mycroft gave a soft chuckle. “Very well then. I shall endeavour to remember that. But proceed.”

So Lestrade talked. He told him of new cases, what was happening on old cases, the promotions, demotions, the arguments, the frustrations and those moments that made policing worthwhile.

To him it all seemed like so much chitter chatter, any portion of which Mr. Holmes could so easily have found out without a “special liaison” but then it did mean he got to see the man again, hear his voice, discover that Mycroft liked to settle back into the cushions of his chair, half closing his eyes as he listened. He asked the occasional question, once or twice getting Lestrade to go into greater detail. Once he held a hand up stopping the Inspector’s flow of words and jotted down a note or two on his newspaper. Finally, finally when Lestrade had run out of steam he rose to go.

“Thank you Inspector. This has been most instructive. I shall look forward to your next report.” As he spoke, he moved towards the door of the Stranger’s room.

“Wait!” Lestrade cried, “What was the purpose of all that? What could you have discovered from that load of twaddle?”

“Oh perhaps a bit of this, a bit of that,” Mycroft answered. He turned in the doorway. “That forger’s case now Inspector..” he paused.

“Yes?” asked Lestrade warily

“Wire my brother.” Mycroft slipped across the hall stopping in front of another door. Through the glass panelling there was a glimpse of a large and luxurious room in which a considerable number of men were sitting about reading papers, each in his own little nook. He glanced back at the dumbfounded inspector, put his index finger to his lips, winked and quietly entered his club.

 

Mycroft ambled through the rooms of the Diogenes Club. He was headed for one of his favourite spots, a deeply comfortable chair near a window. It was located in a small room off the main rooms so it had the added bonus of even fewer people near him, while plenty passed by outside for his amusement. He admitted to himself a small sense of puzzlement. He did not really need reports from Inspector Lestrade. In fact when the Home Office first approached him with the idea he had decried it immediately. If he needed to know what the Yard was up to, he could find out easily enough. And yet..... Upon the conclusion of that brief meeting at his brother’s Mycroft had found his thoughts returning again and again to the smaller man. The basics were easily discovered, age, marital status, years with the Yard, schooling, wages, complete lack of social life, seemingly married to his work. But it hadn’t been enough. Mycroft wanted more. And what Mycroft wanted he normally got. Only this time...what did he want? Even with all his cerebral advantages, Mycroft himself was not sure. Ignoring the paper in his lap he stared out the window spotting a trim, familiar figure, shoulders hunched against the wind, striding briskly away from the Diogenes Club. Mycroft watched the man, honed down to mere muscle from years of chasing criminals, till he could see him no more. How could a simplistic Yard Inspector have such a hold over his thoughts? The very idea was absurd, and yet....hmph.

 

Inspector Gregory Lestrade of Scotland Yard had had just about enough. To think he once believed this man was not as infuriating as his brother! But these ridiculous reports he had to give seemingly all the time were the biggest waste of time ever. It had been fine at first, pointless yes but fine. Each week he would receive a note from Mycroft, head off to the Diogenes Club, make his report such as it was and leave. True he accomplished nothing the rest of the day with his head full of fantasies about the older man but that was neither here nor there.

Then it slowly became less pleasant. He was no longer shown into the Stanger’s Room when he arrived. Now he was led to where Mycroft relaxed in his chair deep in the bowels of the Diogenes Club. Usually this meant passing through the main rooms, veering off left, through a smaller less populated room and down a short hall to an even smaller room where Mycroft would be sitting reading his paper or staring out the window lost in thought. Often he was alone, but occasionally an extremely elderly gentleman could be found napping in the chair closest to the hearth.

Upon the first of these occasions Mycroft rose to his feet immediately and led him back to the Stanger’s Room. The next three times as well. Lestrade enjoyed walking along next to the bigger man. Foolish he knew but he felt powerful pacing along ‘side him. As though the two of them together could accomplish anything, anything the world might need. And although Lestrade knew he would cut out his own tongue before he would admit it, he felt safe there in the dimly lit, warm silence of the Club. No alarms ringing, no interrogations, no rushing off to prevent the worst from happening, while far too often being far too late.

Until one day he arrived, found Mycroft reading his paper and had to wait. And wait. Mycroft eventually finished the article he was reading, looked up, smiled and once again lead the way through the Club.

Next time Lestrade had to wait even longer. In fact, the longer he waited, the shorter his patience grew. A fortnight ago he had reached the end of his tether rather quickly, breaking every rule in the book, "Mymmm"

Mycroft had reached up placing a gentle hand over Lestrade`s mouth. He pointed to a sign on the wall, -Silence Please-

Worse the summons were coming almost daily now. His cases were being distributed among the other Inspectors, and most horrifying of all, some were being handled by Holmes...the more annoying brother he still acknowledged privately in his own head, and Dr. Watson. Apparently Mr. Holmes had thought one or two of them might prove interesting.

No, Gregory dropped his head into his hands in the baking hot room that was his office. The worst bit, the very worst bit that he could scarcely admit to himself was that he did not really care. He didn`t care about any of that, not his cases, not Holmes, the younger one that is, not the Doctor commenting on his distracted air, none of it, not really. What mattered was he now got to see Mycroft every day. He was spending more time on his appearance than on the criminals in his life. He listened to every bit of gossip, scanned the duty boards, and twice daily checked the arrests and releases just so he would have something new to tell Mycroft. Each day he hurried to the now familiar door of the Diogenes Club only to find Mycroft reading the paper and gesturing to that miserable bloody sign. –Silence Please-

Not today. Today he was done. Like Sherlock going off his drugs, Lestrade was conscious of the trembling in his hands as he walked to the small room. Either Mycroft acknowledged him or by all that was holy Lestrade was going to talk! Shout even! Make sure every silent member of the Diogenes Club knew exactly who he was and more importantly whose fault it was that the silence of those hallowed halls had be broken.

Pushing back his shoulders and drawing himself up to his full height such as it was, he strode into the backroom, closing the door quietly behind him, finally stopping far too close to Mycroft`s chair. In the corner the old man snored softly. The elder Holmes glanced up idly, returning to his newspaper with barely a flick of an eye.

Lestrade seethed. This was it then. He would be barred forever from the Diogenes Club but that truly did not matter. It was not as though he was a member, nor ever would be. Mycroft Holmes was going to pay attention to him; one way or another, the hour of reckoning had arrived. He moved as close to Mycroft`s chair as he could ready to vent his frustrations to the world.

Once again a hand appeared from behind the newspaper covering his mouth before a sound could escape. Lestrade fumed for a second before a dreadful idea arose in his mind. He could not. He should not. But this really was the end, he was not going to see this..this...man who wouldn`t even acknowledge his presence, ever again. Really when he thought about it, it wasn`t such a dreadful idea after all.

Lestrade licked Mycroft`s hand.

He was fairly certain no one had ever caused Mycroft Holmes to react in such an extreme manner. Mycroft nothing, he was willing to bet that neither Holmes brother had ever shot backwards like that. It was actually quite amusing.

Grinning broadly he stared down at the man in the chair in front of him. Mycroft was alternately staring at his hand and back up at Lestrade. He seemed unsure as to what had just happened and what he should do about it.

"Lesmmphh," He looked up over the hand on his mouth into devilishly amused eyes. Lestrade placed one finger on his lips and indicated the sign. –Silence Please- Mycroft`s own eyes grew softer and amused. Quirking an eyebrow he gently licked Lestrade`s hand in return.

Lestrade leaned forward, sliding one knee onto the chair between Mycroft`s legs. He bent over him, watching carefully for any sign of rejection. "No noise" he mouthed, ensuring Mycroft`s compliance by kissing the older man.

Mycroft ran his hands up the inspector`s back. Unbelievably the one thing he had not even let himself think about was actually happening. It had been so difficult seeing Lestrade the past few weeks. The man had haunted his every waking moment and most of his dreams as well. He had tried ignoring him, making him wait, hoping Lestrade would refuse to return, thinking that he, Mycroft would likely return to his original contentment before he had become so obsessed. But Mycroft had so enjoyed just having the younger man around, even if was just knowing he was standing there beside him, waiting for him to finish reading. And now, to have Lestrade in his arms, it was beyond compare.

Lestrade pulled at Mycroft`s collar, loosening it, dropping open mouthed kisses on newly exposed skin. Mycroft tilted his head to give the inspector, no, Gregory, better access. He felt Gregory beginning to fumble with his shirt buttons. Gently, so gently so as to not cause offense he took Lestrade`s hands in his own. Mycroft looked up at the younger man. They were still in the Diogenes. A seldom used room true but even so.

Lestrade tangled his fingers in Mycroft`s hair. He settled further onto the chair, pressing ever so slightly against the bulge he could feel in Mycroft`s trousers. Mycroft groaned so softly and wrapped his arms around Gregory`s waist.

"Bloody hell," Lestrade thought, "in for a penny... " He grabbed the back of Mycroft`s chair. Startled Mycroft let him go, holding on as Lestrade wrestled the chair to face away from the door. It slid surprisingly easily on the carpeted floor. He shoved a potted plant along with his foot till it mostly obscured them. Then with a quick check for their still snoring companion he twitched the heavy drapes closed plunging the room into twilight like gloom. Looking supremely pleased with himself he moved back to the chair and settled himself on the floor between Mycroft`s feet.

Reaching up he palmed the large bulge through the dark woollen trousers. Mycroft gasped causing Lestrade to smile at him. "Ssshhh" he breathed. He made quick work of unfastening the trousers and pushing aside undergarments. Gregory knelt higher, crushing his lips to Mycroft`s, licking at his mouth, seeking a deeper connection. Mycroft`s mouth opened pulling the inspector to him. With both hands on Lestrade`s head he held him in place, tongues tangling, sliding against one another, learning the taste and shape of the others mouth. Mycroft was certain that nothing, nothing his brother ever injected could feel this good. He bit gently at the smaller man`s lips, soothing the spot with quick wet licks. Lestrade`s hand was working on his most intimate place. It was all he could do to keep from crying out.

Lestrade pulled back, looking down at what he had revealed. The Holmes` were not small men by anyone standards, and Mycroft was bulkier than his younger brother. Lestrade could not help but think if Sherlock took after his elder sibling at all it was no wonder Dr. Watson often walked with a limp.

He knelt down again, palming his prize, running his hand from the base to tip. Mycroft`s cock was long and shapely, not overly thick, rising up from a nest of dark hair. A single tear like drop crested the fat reddish head. Lestrade leaned in and licked it away as well as the next one that appeared and the next. The bigger man`s hands clench whitely on the arms of the chair beside Lestrade's head. Smiling to himself, the inspector swirled his tongue all around the head now weeping copious tears. He traced a wet line from tip to base, glancing up at the faint sound above him. Pulling back he reared up, kissing Mycroft hard on the mouth, “Silence please,” he mouthed. Mycroft rolled his eyes, grinning back. “I can be quiet,” he breathed back.

Lestrade slid back down, swiftly taking his new lover fully into his mouth. Mycroft stuffed his fist into his mouth to muffle the groan of being enclosed in that soft, wet, heat. Gregory sucked strongly at the quivering length in his mouth while his hand stole down and opened his own trousers. Fumbling in a pocket he found a handkerchief to hold while he stroked himself. He slid back up Mycroft`s shaft, bobbing up and down taking immense enjoyment every time he heard the faintest noise above him. Glancing up he released him long enough to catch Mycroft`s eyes. He slowly, deliberately pick up his cock with his free hand, drawing broad strokes up and down it with his tongue. Briefly he dipped his head to nuzzle at balls hidden away behind. Lestrade sat back, still holding Mycroft`s cock, watching his every reaction. Gregory rubbed the shaft over his mouth like a cat marking its toy. He nuzzled it up against his cheek and gave it a soft kiss. “More?” he asked silently.

In answer Mycroft caught his head in his hands guiding him back to his previous position. Lestrade chuckled around the length in his mouth causing Mycroft`s hips to jerk, but stopped his teasing and began to suck in earnest, bobbing his head up and down, sucking, licking and nibbling, his other hand furiously jerking on his own flesh. Mycroft`s hips surged and twitched back and forth fucking the inspector`s mouth, feeling the tension pooling in his groin.

At such a pace no man could last long and certainly not one who had been fantasizing about this act for weeks. Mycroft tensed and once again bit down on his own fist to keep his silence as he spilled into Lestrade`s eager mouth. Lestrade continued to lap at the softening flesh, till he too shuddered and spent into the handkerchief, muffling his groan of completion on Mycroft`s leg. He sat contentedly for a minute or two still leaning on the soft trousers. He could feel the race of his own heart and the equally fast beat of Mycroft`s as they both re-gained their senses. Slowly as his emotions settled down Lestrade pushed himself to his feet, tidying himself away and adjusting his clothing. An arm snaked around his waist pulling him down onto a warm firm lap. Lestrade settled himself against Mycroft, not caring for the moment how silly he had to look, cuddled there on the bigger man`s lap. He felt lips against his hair and smiled to himself. Eventually realizing how time must be passing the Inspector stood, brushing off his suit, he bent to give Mycroft a deep kiss.

Mycroft kissed him back, levering himself out of his chair so that the two stood lock in a heated embrace, mouths open, hands roaming. Mycroft felt Lestrade smile against his mouth and answered it with one of his own. The two broke apart, Lestrade shuddering once more as Mycroft ghosted his fingers over the front of the Inspector`s trousers.

After setting the room to its proper order, they moved side by side though the halls of the Diogenes Club till they reached the Stranger`s Room. Oddly though there were few words between them as the young waiter hurried to fetch Lestrade`s coat. Mycroft ushered the Inspector to the door bestowing on him a truly warm smile, as close as a kiss as he could come on a public street. The two shook hands, for perhaps only a moment too long till Mycroft slipped back inside his Club.

Lestrade strode briskly along the streets of London feeling like he could chase down every criminal on his own. He wanted to yell his excitement to the world but at the same time keep it very small and quiet, just for him to savour. Finally his steps slowing he glanced around, unfolding the bit of paper Mycroft had scribbled in the Stranger`s Room before palming it to him with the final handshake.

Next time, my rooms and we`ll see just how loud you can be.

End.

 

Epilogue.

Lestrade kept his position as Liaison to the Home Office. It was a very enjoyable position after all. He met with Mycroft several times a week. Although they did not take such an outlandish risk again, at least not at the Diogenes, there was one member, an extremely elderly man who would ever after wink at Lestrade whenever he saw him in the Club


End file.
